


May He So Keep Me

by Bluestofsteel



Category: I Was Born for This - Alice Oseman
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-27 01:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18293951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluestofsteel/pseuds/Bluestofsteel
Summary: The Ark is on an indefinite hiatus to get their shit together. Between dealing with his newfound feelings for Lister and losing his will to make music, Jimmy has the most to sort out.





	May He So Keep Me

The first thing they do is go to therapy.

Well, not quite. 

The first thing they do is call Cecily and tell her they’re not signing the contract. Or any contract. Not for a little while, at least. The Ark is going on hiatus. Just for a few months. They’ll get their wits back. Eat full meals in their own apartment. Visit Grandad once every week or two. Get Lister in the Alcoholics Anonymous or something. Jimmy can sleep a little easier now, thank God, knowing that a crazed fan isn’t sneaking into the apartment and taking pictures of them while they’re sleeping. 

But for now, Lister still has another week left in the hospital ahead of him. 

Jimmy and Lister are both lying in his hospital bed, watching an episode of _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ on Jimmy’s laptop. He can hear Rowan in the hallway, arguing in a hushed voice with Cecily over the phone. 

Jimmy isn’t really paying attention to the show. He just chuckles when Lister laughs, which is more than he usually would, because the painkillers are still making him all dopey. But he’s not entirely convinced Lister hasn’t been higher before, in a much less legal way. 

Mostly, Jimmy’s trying not to read too much into the fact that Lister’s head is resting on his shoulder. _Why should it matter?_ he tries to tell himself. Lister’s done this a hundred thousand times before. 

_It matters because you didn’t like him before._

No. He doesn’t like him. Does he? Lister leaked the Jowan photo. He stole Jimmy’s knife. 

But, twice now, Lister’s gotten himself into trouble, life-threatening trouble, trying to protect him. He stood up to Theo Wills when he called Jimmy a slur back in secondary school and getting pushed in front of a car, and now he’s done this. Maybe he’s gotten into these scrapes more times than Jimmy knows. 

And he’s _Lister_. He’s gorgeous, and funny, and an amazing drummer, and he’s been one of his best mates since they were kids. 

But now really isn’t the time to be thinking about that. 

Lister’s hearty laugh at Andy Samberg’s wail of, “Captain, Santiago broke the glass!” pulls him back to earth. He rests his cheek against Lister’s hair. 

“How’re you feeling?” Jimmy asks.

“I’d be a lot worse if it weren’t for . . . whatever it was they gave me.”

“No, I mean, how are you _feeling?_ ”

He shrugs. “I kind of want to call my mum. That’s something new, I guess.”

Jimmy starts to sit up. “Do you want me to get your phone?” he asks. “Or, uh, you know you could always ask her to come down here. She is your mum. I mean, Rowan and I would give you two space and everything--”

“Jimmy, mate, it’s fine. I’m not . . . my mind’s too fuzzy to talk to her right now. You know what she’s like.”

Lister takes hold of Jimmy’s upper arm and yanks him back down. Then he puts his head right back on Jimmy’s shoulder. He sort of reminds him of a cat, the way his cheek keeps nestling against him.

Rowan comes back into the room, and tosses his phone onto the armchair by the bed. 

“How’d Cecily take the news?” Jimmy asks. 

“How do you think she fucking took it?” Rowan says. Then he groans, and winds his hands into his hair. “One of us has to make a statement by tomorrow morning. A tweet or something.”

“Don’t look at me,” Lister says. Then he snorts. Actually snorts. Like he’s made a clever joke or something. 

Jimmy guesses he should be the one who writes the tweet. After all, he is the frontman. Maybe people are expecting Lister to announce the hiatus, since he’s the one who’s in hospital and all. But, Jimmy doesn’t trust him to say anything that wouldn’t send Cecily into a shouting fit. 

The thing is, Jimmy has no idea how to diplomatically and kindly break the news to their fans. If one of them got angry enough to throw a brick at Rowan because he had a girlfriend, what would others do when they find out that they’re stopping altogether? Their address must be somewhere on the internet. If someone really wanted to, they could . . .

“Alright, Jimjam?” Rowan asks. “Still with us?”

“Yeah, yeah. Uh, I guess we could write the tweet together, and I’ll post it?”

Lister snorts again. “Start with this: ‘To whom it may concern, we’ve taken a break from music, because your obsession with us has driven us to anxiety and alcoholism.’”

Jimmy looks down at the floor. Alcoholism. The word is powerful. It shouldn’t be used to describe Lister. Not their upbeat, outgoing, daring Lister. It should be used for a middle aged man, with neck beard and a massive beer belly, who sits in an easy chair watching football all day. 

“So you admit it, then,” Rowan says. Silence hangs heavy in the room. Maybe it just feels heavier for Jimmy. 

“Ro, if it weren’t for the booze, I would have never been a stabee. I - I need help.” After a moment, he adds, “Lest I become a stabee twice-over.”

Rowan groans, which gets Lister full-body laughing. Which he probably shouldn’t do, seeing as just shouting was enough to hurt him yesterday. 

Jimmy can’t help feeling a little hopeful. Already, they’re acting more like they did when The Ark first started, when everything was exciting and new, than they have in years. Even though Lister has a hole in his abdomen. A hole Jimmy’s knife made. He mentally shakes himself, and tries to focus on the conversation before he’s pulled back into the depths of anxiety. 

Lister’s trying to convince them to sneak him in some McDonald’s. Apparently the food in here is so horrible, the only thing he’s eaten is green Jell-O, and the Doritos they brought him yesterday. “Or better yet, bring some of your Grandad’s food, Jimmy. Remember his panzanella? I haven’t had anything like it in years.”

Then Rowan says that, if they're driving all the way back to Grandad’s for panzanella, they’re going to pick up his mum so she can see him. But Lister argues that the doctor says he needs to rest, and, “You _know_ she won’t let me rest, Ro. She’d just go on about how reckless I am, and how if we didn’t have free healthcare and if I wasn’t rich, I’d probably be dead,” and before Jimmy knows it, they’re shoving a Big Mac into the handbag they bought at the hospital gift shop. 

 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I can push my own bloody wheelchair, Jimmy! Jesus Christ!”

Jimmy swats Lister’s hands away from the wheels. “I’m not saying you can’t. Just that, if you want to, you can go ahead and explain what you’re doing to that nightmare of a nurse.”

Lister’s smirking, now. Jimmy can tell, even though he’s facing away from him. “Oh, come on, Gertrude’s not that bad. I reckon she fancies me a little.”

They’ve just gotten out of the hospital elevator. At the end of the hallway, sunlight is shining through the doors. Rowan is a couple feet behind them, talking to a doctor about Lister’s dietary restrictions, bedrest, and a specialist he can refer to once they get back to London. 

The paparazzi and fans outside are already shouting. A couple of bodyguards are by the door, and as they approach, one of them ushers Jimmy aside and takes hold of the wheelchair. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. The last time he saw his fans in such large numbers, they were mobbing him at the train station. 

They step out in the bright light, and the screams instantly get louder. Jimmy pulls up his hood as the camera flashes start up, and for once in his life, he doesn’t stop to interact with the fans. The hospital’s put up some barriers, and there are a couple policemen holding the crowds back. 

Cecily is leaning against the black SUV that’s pulled up to the curb. She actually looks up from her phone when they reach the car, and steps aside so the bodyguards can lift Lister inside. Then she, Rowan, and Jimmy climb in after him. Someone closes the door, and the screams are instantly stifled. 

For a moment, Jimmy thinks Cecily’s going to yell at them. She’s _turned her phone off_ , and is looking back and forth between them. At last, she says, “You lot’ve had an eventful week.” And as the car starts to pull away, “Put on your seatbelt, Rowan.”

Then she picks her phone back up and resumes the frantic tapping. 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Every bottle of alcohol in the apartment is laid out on the kitchen counter. Rowan is standing next to them, and Lister is balancing on his crutches on the other side of the breakfast bar. Rowan pulls the cork out of a wine bottle, and holds it threateningly over the sink. 

“Not the riesling,” Lister pleads. “Come on, mate. That was so expensive.”

“You drank half of it when those soundcheck guys came round!” Jimmy says. 

Rowan is completely stoic. “Lister, listen. The best thing we can do right now is to take away anything that might tempt you. Jimmy and I think so. Your doctor thinks so. That lady at the A.A. thinks so. Just trust me, okay?”

Lister doesn’t trust him, though. Not quite. He’s smartened up enough to know he’s got a problem, but not enough yet to do much about it. 

The riesling is gone, now, and Rowan reaches for a bottle of Grey Goose. Lister groans in frustration. 

Jimmy pats Lister on the back. “Come on,” he says. “We’ve got, like, three seasons of _Property Brothers_ recorded.”

Lister smiles weakly at him. “ _Property Brothers_?”

“Hey. You can’t tell me that show isn’t therapeutic.”

Lister hobbles over to the lounge. Jimmy follows, and climbs over the back of the sofa. He retrieves the remote from in between two cushions and tosses it to Lister. He scrolls through the plethora of episode titles, which are taking up all the room on the PVR. Jimmy started recording it just before they left for the last tour, and hasn’t gotten around to watching it until now. Lister chooses one about a large family from Nashville. He settles back against the sofa. 

He flinches when he hears the pop of a cork being removed. Jimmy takes the remote from him and turns the volume up. 

After a while, Lister says, “D’you reckon we should do a country record next?”

Jimmy rolls his eyes, so Lister continues, “Come on, it’d be great. We could buy some abandoned farmhouse in Nashville and have Jonathan and Drew fix it up. And . . . I don’t know . . . chew straw? Wear flannel?”

“Write songs about our tractors and little white churches?” Jimmy offers. 

Lister laughs. 

“I don’t want to think about any sort of record, honestly,” Jimmy says. “Making music has changed so much. When I wrote songs when we were young, all I thought about were the lyrics and if the melody worked out. But now, I keep asking myself if it’s what people want to hear.”

Lister runs a hand through his hair, and looks up at the ceiling. He doesn’t say anything for a couple minutes, then, “When did we become slaves to the music industry?”

Lister turns on his side so that his whole body is facing him. Reaching for his hand, he says, “Jimmy, I promise you, The Ark won’t record another song until it feels fun and sincere again.”

Jimmy just smiles at him. He pulls his hand back, then runs his knuckles against his (totally not red) cheeks. They go back to watching the show. Jimmy doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t say that he feels like making music may never feel fun and sincere again. 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

They order from Domino’s that night, and eat it on paper plates in the living room. Rowan puts on _Back to the Future_. He keeps slapping Lister in the arm when he plays air-guitar along with the background music. 

“You’re not even pretending to play chords,” Rowan says. “You’re a disgrace to bassists everywhere.”

Jimmy’s phone chimes. He expects it to be an email from Grandad - it’s not like he has a large group of friends to check up on him at all hours of the day. Instead, it’s a text from Bliss. Jimmy feels sort of sad, thinking about her. He can’t quite get his head around the fact that he won’t be seeing her much anymore. 

She says that Angel tried messaging him a couple days ago on Twitter. 

_Twitter_. 

Just the thought of social media is enough to make him shudder. He can only imagine what kind of shitstorm must be going down since they announced the hiatus. Cecily says they’ve been trending all week. 

He opens the app, and tries not to read any of the tweets in his feed. 

**angel @jimmysangels**  
Hey! How’re you lot holding up?

That was from three days ago.

 **Jimmy Kaga-Ricci @jimmykagaricci**  
well, nothing’s on fire 

**Jimmy Kaga-Ricci @jimmykagaricci**  
we’re taking some time off to look after ourselves

A few minutes later, Angel replies to his message. 

**angel @jimmysangels**  
So I’ve heard. Literally everywhere. 

Jimmy really, really doesn’t want to have to talk about the hiatus to someone again. He tries to change the subject. 

**Jimmy Kaga-Ricci @jimmykagaricci**  
Have you been hanging out with bliss much?

 **angel @jimmysangels**  
A bit yeah! She and my friend juliet have been doing things together like every night since they met

 **angel @jimmysangels**  
She’s really nice! I’m glad to have met her

 **Jimmy Kaga-Ricci @jimmykagaricci**  
I’m happy she’s doing ok. after what happened with rowan.

 **angel @jimmysangels**  
She seems fine :)

Angel keeps deleting and re-typing her next message. She must be apprehensive about sending it.

 **angel @jimmysangels**  
How’s rowan taking it?

 **Jimmy Kaga-Ricci @jimmykagaricci**  
pretty well, i think. I guess he’s kinda relieved.

Jimmy looks over at Rowan. His hands are pressed together, his index fingers resting against his lips, like he’s praying. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. Jimmy’s not sure if something funny happened in the movie or if Lister was the one to make him smile. 

He used to wonder why Rowan and Bliss stayed together for so long when it was obvious that they weren’t happy together. Then he thought of Lister, and how he totally-doesn’t-like-him. If things were going badly with them, be it in terms of romance or friendship, Jimmy wouldn’t want to just walk away from him. 

Not that it matters. He and Lister are never going to happen. 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jimmy does _not_ want to be here. 

He’s stuck at some party in some apartment that isn’t that different from his own. A friend of Rowan’s, from a charity The Ark supports, is throwing a sort of stag party. It looks like any male he’s ever spoken to is here. 

Everybody told him to go. Rowan. Cecily. His therapist. 

The three of them have hardly gone outside since they announced the hiatus. Where would they go? If any one of them so much as walked down the street, they’d be hounded by screaming fans and paparazzi. Parties with anyone in the music industry would be incredibly awkward. Jimmy knows they’d be pestered with the same question over and over and over. 

But they seem to be the only musicians in the building. And the countless men here can’t care less about the fact that one of the biggest bands in the country is here. That should make Jimmy feel good. 

Right?

Absolutely not. 

He can barely breathe in this place. The entire first floor - a kitchen, lounge, and dining area - is packed like a mosh pit. Someone’s set up a DJ booth, and a few guys are awkwardly swaying to the beat. 

He should just leave. Rowan’s having a great time. He loves people who don’t care about who he is. Lister’s nowhere to be seen. Jimmy can just call a ride, go home, talk to Grandad, and have dinner in peace and quiet. 

Jimmy pushes through the crowd, getting a few elbows to the ribs and dirty looks along the way, and tries to get to the front door. He breaks free of the crowd, stumbling a little, stopping face-to-face with Lister. 

He’s perched on the staircase by the door, and looks at him through the bannister. His eyes roam Jimmy’s body, probably just making sure he isn’t on the verge of a panic attack, but Jimmy blushes nonetheless. 

“What’s up?” he asks. It’s not like Lister to sit on the sidelines at a party like this. 

Lister gestures to the crowd with the waterbottle he’s holding. “They’re all wasted,” he says. “It‘s like they’re mocking me. My therapist said it’d be good for me to come, see if I’d be tempted to drink, but . . . I’m just annoyed.”

Jimmy sits next to him. “I know,” he says. “You can barely move out there.”

They sit for a moment, Lister bobbing his head to the music, and Jimmy trying not to stare at the way his hair flops along with it. Then, Lister gets to his feet, his hand extended to Jimmy. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks. 

“Place like this? There’s bound to be somewhere we can hear ourselves think,” Lister replies. 

Jimmy takes his hand, and Lister pulls him to his feet, then leads him up the stairs. The second floor is a corridor, with a wall of windows on one side, three doors on the other, and another staircase at the end. Lister, still holding onto Jimmy’s hand, opens the first door. 

It’s an office, with two desks set up so that the people who work there would be back-to-back. Jimmy lets go of Lister’s hand and sits in one chair. Lister sits in the other. They put their feet on each other’s seat. Jimmy can feel the rumble of the bassline through the floor. 

The neighbours must hate this guy. 

“You’re doing okay, then?” Jimmy says. “With not drinking?”

Lister shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, the thought of it kind of makes me shudder, you know? Like, I’m worried that if I have a drink, the next thing I know I’ll be stuck in that stupid hospital again with nothing to do but eat the terrible food and get frustrated with the slow wifi.”

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Jimmy says, even though it sounds terribly corny. “A lot of people relapse, or don’t have the strength to quit at all. You’ve done a really good job.”

“Anything to please you, Jimmy.” Lister closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of the chair. 

Jimmy sits up, because laying back suddenly feels too vulnerable. All of his thoughts have to do with Lister. Lister’s hair in the light from the open window. Lister’s carelessly relaxed stature. Lister’s sense of humour. Lister wanting to make him happy. The logical part of his brain is screaming for him to do something. He clearly likes him. The paranoid part of his brain is begging Jimmy to leave before he does something he regrets. After all, Lister hasn’t made any advances since he was stabbed. 

Eventually, the logical part wins. 

“Lister . . .”

It sounds strangled. Lister jerks up, and even though he’s looking concernedly at Jimmy, he still manages to look like a model. He’s leaning absentmindedly on his legs, and for once he’s below Jimmy’s height. 

“Lister, I really want to kiss you right now.”

He expects some sort of perfect, witty response. “Go ahead, then,” or, “I thought I’d never hear you say that.”

Instead, Lister says, “You’re joking. I know you’re joking. That’s a really mean prank to pull, Jimmy.”

“I’m not joking!” Jimmy exclaims. He’s frustrated, and kicks the ground so that his chair wheels backwards, into the desk. “I like you! I have for a while. Ages! Since you were in the hospital. And-and I’m going to go out of my fucking mind if I don’t kiss you soon.”

“ . . . not joking?”

Jimmy doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches for the arms of Lister’s chair, and pulls him towards him. He puts a hand to his jaw. It’s smooth to the touch. Impossibly smooth. He can feel Lister’s breath on his lips. 

Then he kisses him. 

It’s chaste and sweet, and Jimmy pulls away, dazed and terrified at the same time, saying, “Oh, god, I didn’t ask if you wanted to, I’m sorry -”

Lister laughs, then pulls him back in. 

This kiss is anything but chaste. Jimmy works his hand into Lister’s hair. He’s got perfect hair, and perfect skin. He puts his other hand back on his jaw, running his thumb back and forth on his cheek. 

They pull apart when they run out of breath. Jimmy rests his forehead on his, and says, “You know, Rowan’s gonna kill us.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“One, two, three, four!”

Jimmy rolls his eyes as Lister starts playing a simple rock beat. Rowan joins in with a guitar riff. After a couple bars, Jimmy starts singing. 

Just over six months have gone by since The Ark announced its hiatus. And Lister was right, Jimmy eventually got his love for music back. Apart from brief practice sessions here and there, this is the first time they’ve played together in a long time. 

They aren’t making a new album, yet. Hell, they haven’t even told anyone they’re making music again. But, Rowan’s phone is leaning against glass of water as a sort of makeshift tripod, and filming their practice session. 

When they get to the end of the song, Jimmy says, “I’m thinking of calling it, ‘May He So Keep Me.’ It’s about keeping secrets and not knowing if it’s right.”

He looks at Lister, who smiles back at him. They’ve been together for about a month, now, and haven’t told Rowan yet. Eventually, they will, but Jimmy knows he won’t take it well. He can’t say he’d blame him. It has to be awkward to third wheel in your own home. 

For now, though, Jimmy’s happy with the way things are. He’s with a really great guy. He’s got his love of music back. And, the three of them are starting to discuss how they want the next contract to go. 

“Another try, everyone?” Rowan says, adjusting his guitar strap.

Lister grins, and starts hitting his drumsticks together. 

“One, two, three, four!”


End file.
